Shadow of a Life
by GrellsLilSecret
Summary: William was asked a straightforward question, so he gave an honest answer without any clue of the repercussions. Now, Grell has been sent away, and there's a chance that William will never see the red reaper again. *Possible trigger warning for scenes with a psychiatrist and issues with gender identity.*
1. Chapter 1

**Shadow of a Life**

 **Chapter 1:**

William sat uncomfortably in his seat at the heavy, oak table, but wouldn't allow any expression to grace his face that would show his discomfort. He simply sat there as he looked at the two evaluators who were going over his reports; their silence only occasionally broken by a whispered remark between them. A small part of William wanted to yell at them to get to the point, but his mouth remained closed and set in a neutral position. A single bead of sweat had gathered between his shoulder blades and had begun to creep down his spine like a crawling insect, but he made no move to scratch or wipe it away as he waited for any comment from either of the evaluators. The two almost looked like a set of twins both with their dark, perfectly groomed hair and nondescript glasses and black suits, but William recognized that he was seeing almost a reflection of himself in the two men as he probably would have when looking at any other member of management. Finally, the slightly taller of the two looked at him and prepared to speak.

"It looks like your department is fairly well in order," the evaluator said in a flat tone, "There has even been signs of improvement since your files were last examined, although that it is to be expected considering the circumstances surrounding your previous review."

"Yes, sir," William replied. There had been an emergency evaluation after the Jack the Ripper incident, and William had serious concerns that he was going to be demoted after that debacle. He had sat and sweated in this very room for hours after that, listening to how he was ultimately to blame for any of his subordinates' actions. Finally, they had released him with a minor pay cut and a warning that if any such events were repeated he would be more harshly punished.

"Your agents also seem to be doing with both their assigned reaps and paperwork," added the stone-faced evaluator, his eyes hidden by the glare of the harsh lighting reflecting on his lenses, "but do you believe any have room for improvement?"

"There is always room for improvement," William automatically answered.

The evaluator who had not spoken yet made a soft noise that could been one of agreement. "That's true," stated the other man, "but allow me to reword the question. Which of your subordinates has the worst record?"

William briefly considered the question, but he already knew there could only be one answer. "Sutcliff, although he has improved greatly as of late and actually has the one of the better completion records." There was no denying that Grell's past deeds was a definite black mark on his employee reports, but William had felt it important to note that he was doing better. Although he hadn't said anything as Grell could turn even the most innocent compliment into a perverse innuendo, he was aware that Grell was putting forth more effort.

"He was the one who was involved in the killing of mortals that were not on the to-die list?" asked the second evaluator. His voice wasn't as emotionless as his counterpart and Will could hear an edge of disgust in his tone.

"Yes," William answered calmly, "He was the one involved in that incident, although he has been punished for those actions. Since returning to active fieldwork, he has been more efficient and competent."

The evaluator made another indistinguishable noise from low in his throat, but he didn't respond with any understandable words as his partner took over the conversation. "So you would say that Sutcliff has the worst record of any of your field agents?"

"Yes," William agreed, "but, as I stated previously, he has shown vast improvement."

"Duly noted," stated the evaluator, "This will conclude this review. I see no reason not to recommend your pay to be increased to his previous grade. Good day to you, Mr. Spears."

"Thank you," William said as he stood up and left the room. When the heavy, plain door closed behind, he briefly let out a breath that he had been holding before shoving all his emotions down deep inside once more. With a face set in granite, he walked swiftly back to the dispatch floor.

There had been changes made rather recently. At one time, most of the reapers had their own office or one that they shared with one or two other agents, but Upper Management felt that they needed to work more closely together to instill a feeling of teamwork, so now their workspace was one large, open area filled with desks. William had the only actual office, and it was a sign that, while he was supervisor, he technically was no longer a part of their department as he had moved beyond just being a simple field agent.

Most everyone was hard at work, although a few were gathered around the water cooler, but even they hurried back to their desks when they saw William approaching. He stood for a brief moment, staring out at the sea of desks and was pleased at the constant noise of clacking typewriter keys and the scratching of pens on paper. Without saying a word, he made his way into his own office and closed the door. It was quiet here for this was his sanctuary. Here was he was in control.

Feeling better now that his evaluation was finally behind him, he made his way behind his large desk and quietly began to work though the papers that had started to accumulate. Time passed steadily, and William's nerves had calmed considerably, when his door suddenly swung open and slammed into the wall. He jumped slightly, but he wasn't all that surprised to see Grell framed in the doorway, but he wasn't accustomed to see the anger on the redhead's face that seemed to be directed towards him. While it wasn't a secret that Grell had quite a temper, he rarely got mad at William no matter the circumstances.

"You are supposed to knock before entering my office, Sutcliff," William said calmly while still puzzling over the reason for his anger.

"How could you do it?" Grell demanded, stomping to the desk as if he hadn't even heard what William had said. "Seriously, how could you?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific," William said, "I have no idea what it is you think that I've done."

Grell laughed bitterly. "Don't play dumb, dear," he retorted, "It doesn't suit you. You know exactly what you've done. You referred me to that new Reaper Reform Agency."

William blinked a few times as he tried to make sense out of Grell's words. "I don't understand what you mean," he finally managed.

Again, Grell didn't seem to listening as began to pace back and forth. "This is a new low," he said, "I mean, I've really tried. I did everything you told me to do and tried to play the part of good little employee, but I can't believe you would do this." He stopped pacing and moved back towards the desk. Laying both his palms flat on the surface, Grell leaned forward and William could see behind all the rage there were tears causing his normally luminous eyes to look watery. "Is this your way of telling me how much you hate me?" he demanded, his voice hitching slightly.

"I didn't refer you to the Reaper Reform Agency, Sutcliff," William stated calmly, "I was asked during my evaluation which of the field agents had the worst record, and you cannot deny that you fall into that category."

"But why would you do that?" Grell demanded, "Just because they asked you that, why would you give them my name?"

William adjusted his glasses as he stared at Grell steadily. "Because it is the truth," he answered plainly, "I did not, however, intend to refer you to that agency."

"So, are you going to tell them that I don't need to go?" Grell asked.

There was a pause as William considered the matter. "I did not refer you," he finally said, "but you cannot deny that you have the worst record, and you still could improve. If the evaluators thought you needed to be referred, that was their decision and not mine. I am not in the place to question their recommendations."

Grell stepped back and crossed his arms across his chest. "This isn't fair," he said simply, "And you know that." He turned with a swish of his beloved red coat and swiftly made his way back to the door. Pausing in the doorway, he turned partially to look at William one final time before leaving.

"I think I misjudged you, William," he said in an oddly calm voice, "I thought you were strong and in control, but you just as much a puppet as any of the higher-ups. Maybe it's a good thing that I learned that."

With those words said, Grell left much more quietly than he had entered, closing the door almost gently behind him and leaving William with the shattered remains of his previous peace and quiet. "I only did what was required of me," he said as if addressing the closed door.

Of course, there was no answer.

((x))

It was late when William finally arrived home and he felt immediate relief the moment he stepped inside his apartment. Everything was just as he left it – perfectly arranged with everything in its proper place, but he hadn't expected any less. With a soft sigh, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him as the familiar, plain surroundings embraced him in comforting yet cold hug.

His first actions were always the same. Walking to his bedroom, he removed both his jacket and his shoes. The footwear was positioned in the bottom of the closet as the jacket was placed discreetly in a hamper. He didn't undress any further except to loosen his tie and slip on a pair of house shoes. As a supervisor, he was perpetually on-call and had to be ready at a moment's notice, or at least that was his excuse. In truth, he owned very little clothing that weren't business attire, which he couldn't deny as his eyes scanned over his sparse belongings that barely took up half the space in his closet. The same couldn't be said for the closets of some of the other reapers because he had seen inside of Grell's closet once when he had been persuaded to step inside of his apartment under false pretenses. The redhead's closet had been so full of seemingly pointless yet expensive items, it was a struggle just to close the door properly.

Realizing that he had allowed his thoughts turn back to Grell, he quickly shut the closet as if physically trying to shut the door on that particular line of thinking and turned away just as the soft sound of flapping wings reached his ears. Something that might have described as a slight small graced William's face as a small, grey pigeon flew into the room and landed deftly on his shoulder.

"Hello, Rosalind," greeted William, as he gently scratched beneath her chin, "Did you have a good day today?"

As if answer, Rosalind nuzzled the side of his neck as he turned and walked back into the kitchen. It was the time for William's typical evening meal, and the food was already prepared and waiting in his refrigerator. He liked to have all his meals prepared several days in advance so there was never a question as to what to eat. As he retrieved his meal, however, this time he paused slightly as he stared at all of the perfectly packaged meals. Each one was in a uniform container and each one was perfectly healthy and portioned.

Perfectly boring.

"It was a tiring day for me," William continued, "It is always quite stressful to be evaluated, although the progress of the department has been recognized."

Rosalind regarded him with her dark eyes, but there was no judgement shimmering in the deep irises. This was comforting to William for he felt as if he had already faced enough judgement. "Something else happened as well," he added, "I was asked to give the name of the collections agent with the worst record. Of course, that was Sutcliff, but the evaluators decided to use that as a referral to the Reaper Reform Agency."

Adjusting his glasses, Will looked down at the food setting on the counter. It had always been more of an appropriate food than appetizing dish, but now his stomach turned as if rejecting the meal before he had even attempted to consume the first bite. "I feel as if I was set up," he admitted, finally giving a voice to the thoughts that had been tumbling about in his head, "They simply asked for the name of the worker with the worst record, and I even told them that Sutcliff has improved. Never once was a transfer mentioned."

Returning the food to the fridge, he walked into the living room to sit on a brown couch. Rosalind hadn't stirred during all this as she simply set on William's shoulder and appeared to listen to his words.

"Of course Sutcliff could improve," continued William, "so their decision was not totally unfounded. Grell has more raw talent and potential that most. Perhaps this reform agency could help him to gain the focus and the control he still lacks."

The silence in the apartment was almost palpable as William stared without seeing out a large window across from his couch. "It could help him," he finally reiterated, "but he has shown improvement on his own. Honestly, it makes little sense to punish him after he has already been punished, and he does seem to be trying to do better."

Rosalind nuzzled him again, and he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to feed his only companion. Returning to the kitchen, he retrieved her special seed from the pantry and poured out the premeasured amount in a small dish. Her food was also prepared ahead of schedule with nutrition and value in mind, but she seemed to have far more appetite than he had as she began to eat.

"Sutcliff isn't scheduled to be transferred for a week," announced William, "so I will tell the evaluators that I don't feel he needs to go the reform agency and will point out his recent improvements once again. If they decide that it would still be in everyone's best interest that Grell go to this reform agency, and I'm not entirely convinced that this may be the case, then I will provide no further input on the matter. If it is decided that, based on my own feelings concerning punishment and recent improvement, that Grell should stay, I will only double my efforts to mold him into a more suitable agent. That seems like the best course of action. Wouldn't you agree, Rosalind?"

The plump little pigeon went about her own food happily, although it wasn't as if he had actually been expecting an answer. Just talking aloud to Rosalind made William feel better when he was faced with a difficult decision.

At least, it did most of the time.

((x))

Dispatch was eerily silent in the early morning, and William couldn't help but think that his shoes sounded impossibly loud echoing on the recently waxed floor. Typically, he liked being at the office before everyone else, despite his own complaints about overtime, because this was a time for him to get a start on his paperwork before the hustle and bustle of other employees made concentration nearly impossible, but today his mind was consumed with other thoughts. Even though he had made up his mind about what to do about Grell's impending, potential transfer, he still felt uneasy. No matter which way he looked at it, he couldn't deny that being sent to the reform agency might actually be beneficial. While William had never voiced the thoughts aloud, he was a bit envious of Grell's natural abilities, which exceeded his own. He couldn't help but think about the kind of career he would have made for himself if he was as talented in battle and reaping as Grell. At the same time, William still could not deny that Grell had made sincere efforts to do better nor could he blind himself to the hurt that had been so clearly stamped in the red reaper's eyes after the referral had been made. Giving his own recommendation that Grell be permitted to remain an active field agent in this office seemed like the best course of action and perhaps the only appropriate response to the situation.

This was all still running through his mind when he unlocked his door to step into his familiar office, but an envelope on the floor caught his eye, and he immediately recognized the flourished handwriting that spelled out his name. He had opened his door many times over the years to find some letter from Grell, but he somehow doubted this was a poetic declaration of love as he leaned over to retrieve envelope. There was a single sheet of paper inside, but Grell's few written words upon that page held a lot of weight.

 _William,_

 _I thought that this final week before I'm to be sent away might be needlessly painful for the both of us, so I decided to simply leave for the Reaper Reform Agency._

 _Grell_

This hadn't been something that William had been expecting, and he turned hurriedly from his office to look out over the rows and rows of desks. Grell's desk was in the far corner, and slightly larger than most of others although it's surface had been scratched and scarred. Grell had always had his desk in such a disarray, William had often wondered how Grell had ever managed to find anything, but now it was oddly bare and clear. There were no trinkets, no photographs, or even some ridiculous calendar. In fact, the only thing that remained that indicated that Grell had even used this desk by a streak of red nail polish staining the surface.

While William stood there, other workers begin to file in casually; most laughing and talking as if it was just any other day. They made their way to their own desks, but William couldn't help but notice that not a single one of them had even noticed Grell's recently cleared desk. He had never paid much attention, but it occurred to him that Grell might not have many friends in the office for it seemed he was often the subject of gossip but he rarely saw Grell socializing with many of his co-worker.

The only exception to that, Ronald Knox, entered the room. He had a big smile plastered on his face as usual as he talked, but the smile slipped slightly when his eyes happened upon Grell's desk. As William looked on, the younger reaper walked over to the desk and actually ran his hand over the rather abused surface. Confusion still passing over his features, he turned to a co-worker who happened to walking by at that moment. Even from this distance, William could hear him asking about Grell's whereabouts.

Of course, his colleague knew nothing about Grell's situation. Other than himself and the evaluators, Grell had been the only other one to have known, and it was apparent he hadn't discussed the situation with the others. On nimble feet, the news of Grell's cleared desk and thus his probable departure danced through the room, and William couldn't help but frown at a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere in the back, although it wasn't clear if it had anything to do with Grell.

"Mr. Spears, sir?" a hesitant voice nearby asked.

Turning, William saw that Ronald had approached him during the time the flames of gossiped where being fanned by all too eager tongues. "Yes, Knox?" William prompted.

"Do you know where Senior Sutcliff is today?"

William adjusted his glasses as he looked down at the blonde. "Yes," he answered, "He was transferred to the Reaper Reform Agency." He had briefly thought about being vaguer but feared that would only cause the gossip to grow even worse.

"What?" Ronald cried, "But that place is supposed to brainwash you or something! Why would you send him there?"

"Your tone is not appropriate for the workplace nor is it an acceptable way to speak to a supervisor," stated William, "Also, I ask you not to spread those mindless rumors that seem to fly so rampantly. No agency created by Upper Management would condone any sort of brainwashing. The Reaper Reform Agency is merely designed to help workers become more efficient and orderly. It should help Sutcliff to control his impulsive and rather chaotic nature."

"But, he's really been trying to do better," Ronald insisted, "I mean, he told me he's really been trying to impress you. It doesn't seem fair for you to refer him to that place now."

The news that Grell had been trying to impress him was rather shocking to William, but he shoved the feeling aside. "It is not an issue of fair," he said, "besides, if you must know, I was not the one who referred to him. The decision was made by the recent evaluators of our department."

"So could you tell that Grell doesn't need to go?" asked Ronald. His tone was rather humble, and William decided not to address the inappropriateness of his request at this moment.

"It is not my place," William answered, "and it's too late to do so even if I did feel that this wouldn't be beneficial to Sutcliff, of which I'm not entirely convinced. Sutcliff will return, and will hopefully be a better agent then he is currently. Your present concern should be reapings that have already been assigned to you. I do not need to remind you of the state of your own record at this point."

Ronald still looked surprised and hurt, but William didn't want to take the time to muse on such emotions as he turned back into his own office and shut the door. For better or worse, he had been entirely honest with the younger reaper about the situation, although he could have done without the reminder about the horrible rumors and stories that had been circulating since the opening of this new agency. It simply could not be as bad as the rumors stated. There was no way Upper Management would continue to allow such a travesty to exist.

Something else that stuck out in his mind was Ronald's statement that this wasn't fair. In truth, it probably wasn't fair since Grell had been diligently working and improving, but that wasn't William's concern.

After all, there were a lot of things that simply weren't fair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

There were times that Grell hated her own impulsive and reckless nature. It had gotten her in trouble in the past many times and, as she stared the colorless grey building that bulged out before her like a grotesque frog, she thought it just might have gotten her in trouble once more. This reaper reform agency certainly didn't look like anything she would have imagined, although she had never dreamed she would actually be sent to such a place. She had never dreamed of a time that William wouldn't stand up for her not matter what she did.

A sob rose up in her throat at the thought of William. His betrayal was what had hurt her the most. She recognized Upper Management still didn't probably trust her with all that she had done in the past. That much was almost understandable, but surely Will had to see how much she had been trying and how much she had improved. Now that she was calm, she could recognize that he had said that he had never intended for her to be transferred here, but it still bothered her that he would immediately name her as having the worst record. She supposed it didn't matter now. With her heart broken, she had gone to the evaluators and asked to be sent on ahead to this place instead of waiting a week. They had immediately agreed to do so as soon as she finished any paperwork that was due. She had hurried to finish and even penned a quick note to William that she slipped under his door before cleaning out of her desk. She had returned to her own apartment to leave her belongings, but the taller evaluator had suggested she leave her beloved red coat as well. While this made no sense, there was something in his voice that caused her to reply. For a brief moment she had fingered the coarse stitching in the back, her own handiwork, before hanging it lovingly in the closet. Afterwards, she had simply left with no other belongings other than the clothing she wore. Uncharacteristically quiet, she followed the two evaluators inside the building.

Once inside, the evaluators motioned for her to wait as they disappeared down a long hall. In their place, a tall man with sandy-blonde hair in a drab uniform walked up to him and stared down with cold, two-toned eyes. "Grell Sutcliff," he stated in a monotone as colorless as his uniform, "It is impossible to teleport out of this facility, and you will not be able to summon your scythe. Do you understand this?"

She nodded, although she had to admit it was a bit disheartening to hear.

The man stepped forward and suddenly fastened something about her neck before she had a chance to react. As he returned to his original position, she brought up one hand to touch the item and found that it felt like some sort of collar.

"Follow me," ordered the man as he turned around and started down the hall. Silently, she fell into step behind him; her heart feeling heavier with each step. Finally, they came to a plain, white door which the man opened and motioned for Grell to step inside.

The room itself was dark with the only available light inside over a square opening on a nearby wall. The rest of the room was so enveloped in shadows that she couldn't make out any details beyond the closest wall.

"Strip," the man demanded, "Take off all of your clothing except for your glasses and place them in the chute there." Before Grell could say anything, the door was slammed shut and, and she was left alone in the darkened room.

She didn't take off her clothes immediately as she tried to make out more of the room, although she found herself hesitant to walk too far into the complete darkness. The hole that the man had referred to as a chute looked an open, gaping mouth, and she had no idea where it might led.

"Mr. Sutcliff," a voice announced, "You were told to strip." The tinny quality of the voice made it obvious that it came over some sort of speaker.

"Miss Sutcliff," Grell corrected.

Suddenly, a horrible, fiery pain erupted at her neck. Although she tried to stand, the pain drove her to her knees as she desperately grasped at the collar about her neck, but there seemed to be no relief from the torture. Finally, the pain ended and she was able to shakily return to her feet.

"You were told to strip, Mr. Sutcliff," reiterated the voice.

She draw back her lips from her sharp teeth but chose not to say anything. If she wasn't trapped in this place with any chance to call her precious scythe, she would teach these ruffians some manners, but sadly that wasn't the case. Besides, maybe such thought was the reason she had been sent here to begin with. Still angry, she began to disrobe, and started with the ribbon around her neck and the buttons on her vest. Those were removed quickly and dropped down into the hungry darkness of the chute before she moved on to her shoes. She truly loved these boots and sincerely hoped that she would be able to retrieve the footwear later.

She moved more slowly with her shirt and pants, although she could have made as quick work with those articles as she had her vest. There was still a part of her that was reluctant to reveal her body, and she had a feeling that those here at the Reaper Reform agency weren't going to be considerate. Still, she wanted to avoid more pain, so she removed the clothes and dropped those down the chute as well. Her underwear was last to be removed but it too was soon a victim of the everlasting darkness.

"Take five steps forward," commanded the disembodied voice.

Trying to control her anger and her nerves, she stepped forward and could only hope there was nothing in her way. She hadn't been cold before, but now gooseflesh tattooed her skin although she wasn't sure if it was a result of the temperature.

"Why did you correct me when I called you Mr. Sutcliff?"

"Because you were wrong," Grell replied, trying to remain in control, "It's Ms. Sutcliff and not Mister."

"Oh?" the voice sounded almost amused.

A series of bright lights suddenly flooded the room, and Grell threw her hand in front of her face to block out of the glare. As her eyes adjusted, she slowly brought down her hand, but she wasn't prepared for what she would see. The far wall was comprised by mirrors that had been arranged in such a manner so that each reflected her image. There she was, completely nude, being reflected over and over again so she could stare at the body she had never fully understood.

"I do believe it's Mr. Sutcliff," stated the voice.

"Ms," returned Grell.

The pain returned, but it was even more intense and agonizing this time. In the room, a dozen Grell – one real and the other only reflection, crumbled to the floor, but all their faces still held a steel determination.

"You're a man," the voice said, "Say it."

"No."

"Say it, and the pain will stop."

"No."

"Just look at your reflection. You know the truth, so now say it."

Grell didn't say a word as she rode out each of the painful waves that radiated from her neck. She soon became aware that she would pass out if this continued, but she still didn't give in. If this was their method to try and break her, then it was going to be a failure. She was going to make sure of that.

Finally, the sweet relief of unconsciousness began to wrap its indistinct arms about her, and she almost sighed in that last few moments of awareness.

She had never admitted to their lie. Despite the pain, she had won.

For now.

((x))

The room was white and plain when she awoke slowly; her head still pounding in protest as she sat up. This wasn't the same room as before for it was smaller, more brightly lit, and all four of these walls were lined with those same accursed, angled mirrors. From the multiple reflection, she saw that she had been dressed in a very plain white shirt and pants. Frowning, she looked down and ran her hand over the coarse material. She would far prefer to be relaxing in silk and wearing any color other than white. It was such a horrible color. It was the same as being invisible, and she was far from invisible, even if that would be easier at times.

A door opened and a professional dressed woman walked in carrying two chairs. She smiled warmly at Grell, as she placed the chairs facing each other and motioned for Grell to take one as she sat in the other.

Her head was still aching as she hauled herself to her feet, but at least this woman looked friendly. She wasn't very tall, nor would she be the kind to turn all heads if she walked in a room with her dull brown hair pulled into a tight bun and her slender form. At the same time, the warmth in her smile almost made up for the harshness and dullness of the room, and the same expression was captured in her eyes, which followed Grell as she walked across the room and took a seat.

"How are you doing?" the woman asked.

"I've been better," admitted Grell, absently fingering the collar, "My head still hurts."

The woman frowned slightly as concern plucked her brow. "I'm sorry that the earlier method used was so…extreme," she said, "but now we're just going to have a friendly chat. My name is Dr. Violet, but you may call me Dr. Emily if you prefer. May I call you Grell?"

Grell shrugged. "That's fine," she answered in a flat tone. She didn't want to get into the argument about Mr. vs. Ms. again.

"So, Grell, what brings you here to reform agency?"

"I was referred," Grell answered simply.

Dr. Emily's smile softened. "I understand that your direct supervisor, Mr. Spears, referred you," she said, "but why do you think he did that?"

That question was more difficult to answer, and Grell's gaze drifted to the floor as she fought back tears she wasn't prepared to cry. When being shocked and tortured, she had been prepared to fight everyone in this place with a mad smile gracing her face, but being forced to answer such a simple, straightforward question was far more difficult. "He said," she began in a shaky tone, "that the evaluators asked for the agent with the worst record, and that was me."

Dr. Emily nodded, but this time her gentle smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "There is a search for reapers who records could be improved," she said, but then paused. She stood up and walked over to Grell, where she leaned down close and wrapped her arms about her. "You didn't have the worst record in your department."

"What?" Grell cried, as the tears she had been holding at bay began to streak down her face, "But that's what William said!"

"Perhaps he was mistaken," offered the doctor, "Your past deeds do mar your record, but you recent improves and the fact that you have already been punished for those wrongdoings far outweigh the past. Still, I find it hard to believe that a supervisor would be unaware of this. There were other reapers in your department who should be sitting in that chair instead of you."

"I don't understand," Grell said, her voice breaking as the tears flowed continuously, "Why would William do this to me?"

Dr. Emily returned her seat. "Grell," she began in a soft tone, "Is there any other reason that William would have wanted you sent here?"

Grell shook her head quickly. "No," she answered, "I know I annoy him sometimes, and I don't think he realizes how I really feel about him, but he's always protected me before."

"How do you really feel about him?"

"I love him," she confessed plainly, "and I always have."

"I see," Dr. Emily replied, "Does he love you?"

Again Grell shook her head. "I don't think so," she admitted, "I was always holding out hope that one day he'd look at me and realize that he did love me, but maybe I was fooling myself." She sighed loudly and ran her fingers through her hair. For the first time she realized how tangled it was and wished that she had a comb that she could use. "Plus, he always protected me before. I thought maybe that was his way of showing he cared, but now…" Her voice trailed off as she slowly raised her eyes to look at Dr. Emily. "Now, he's betrayed me."

The doctor opened her mouth to say something, but the door suddenly opened and a young man with black hair popped his head inside. "You're needed in ward B" he said.

"I understand," Dr. Emily said, standing up quickly before casting her warm eyes down on the crying mess before her. "We'll talk more tomorrow," she stated, "and I'll tell them that you don't need to be treated so roughly. I might be able to even have that collar removed. Okay?" With a soft smile, she touched the crown of Grell's head briefly before leaving the room.

Alone once more, Grell turned and looked at all the reflections that surrounded her with her watery eyes and red nose. She looked a mess, but she no longer felt the need to clean herself up. It didn't really matter how she looked on the outside – not anymore.

How could she ever imagined that William could love her? No wonder he had her sent away because she had been delusional all this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

William stood silent and alone in the doorway of his own office just as he did ever morning before his subordinates arrived, but his eyes were locked on Grell's desk. It was no longer empty as other employees had started piling things on top as if it were nothing more than a place to store junk. It bothered him to see Grell's desk treated so disrespectfully, and he was tempted to remove the stray items, but he supposed it was no more disrespectful than the redhead was typically treated.

The oddest thing about the whole situation was that William actually missed Grell. While he had never truly entertained the idea of transferring Grell, he also never imagined that he might miss his presence. When Grell had been absent a few days on a recent assignment, William had breathed a sigh of relief at the relative peace that pervaded the office. There was no more distractions of Grell finding some reason to come inside his office or generally causing trouble. His world was routine and orderly, which were two things he very much appreciated.

What he hadn't realized was that this momentary peace had also held the promise of Grell's return. For better or worse, Grell had become part of his routine. The redhead's distractions and the ensuing chaos, had become a part of his order, and William actually found himself missing it. Each time he heard the clack of high heels, he would look up and expect to see Grell standing there in his non-regulation attire and shark-like smile, but it only led to disappointment. Grell simply wasn't there. He had been gone for several months now, and William couldn't dispel the notion that Grell would never return.

A ripple of laughter echoing down the hall signaled that the other workers were starting to file in, so William stepped back to watch. He stood there every morning, so he had no intention of changing his routine, but he didn't want them to see him staring at an empty desk like a sentimental fool instead of an efficient supervisor.

This had become part of the routine as well.

When everyone had taken their seats, he silently nodded towards the workers as he heard a groan of disapproval. An outbreak of measles would keep most of them away from the desk today and practically guaranteed none of them would be leaving the office on time this evening. Ignoring their quiet complaints, he stepped inside of his office fully and shut the door. Paperwork was waiting for him as usual. As he sat as his desk, however, he paused for just a moment as he stared down a desk drawer.

No doubt he would be leaving late tonight, but there was still something he needed to do this evening.

((x))

William walked down the street as the fake sun that illuminated this realm slowly slid off to the west. It was quiet, and he could hear the sound of his loafers clicking rhythmically, almost explosively in the stillness. He knew that his mind was simply exaggerating the noise because he was worried that he might be seen walking towards an apartment that was not his own. He worked so hard to keep his record and reputation clean, and he didn't want there to be any rumors. As he walked, however, he could hear the soft jangle of the key in his pocket. It was a master key to all of the reapers' apartments, although he hadn't saw any reason to take it from its usual place in his desk drawer for a long time. He wasn't even completely sure of his reasoning this time as he stopped in front of Grell's apartment.

It was the very last building on the street as if his very residence was to be removed and distant from everyone, although, for the most part, it looked almost like all the other apartments. The only difference was the red roses growing along the side of the steps that added just a dash of color to the otherwise common appearance. It was much like the color that Grell himself added to the office, but William didn't want to dwell on such matters as he quickly climbed the steps and inserted the key in the lock. Still slightly worried someone might see him, he stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him, before he dared to turn on the lights.

All of the apartments were essentially the same on the inside, but even inside the foyer it was obvious that this residence had been Grell's alone. William had only stepped inside one other time when Grell had offered up the weak pretense of something that needed his attention, and he had not been paying attention to the décor since had been desperately seeking an escape, but now he had to admit that Grell has his own unique flare.

The apartment was neater that William would have guessed given the usual state of Grell's desk, but there were hints of disorder in the pile of mail upon the hallway table and drawers that were obviously overstuffed. Although Grell's signature color was definitely prominent, it didn't dominate every surface as William might have feared. In fact, Grell had seemed to pair his precious red tones with deep browns and other earth tones that highlighted the color and really tied the rooms together. Grell actually seemed to have a natural talent for decorating.

The kitchen was clean and had a design of apples that seemed rather appropriate. There was a slight odor emanating from a fruit dish where some oranges had undoubtedly gone bad. William made a mental note to throw out any food that had spoiled during Grell's absence. He could at least do that much for the redhead.

The final room he entered was the bedroom. The bedspread was unsurprisingly as deep red as Grell's hair, but it was neatly made. A nearby closet was full to the point of nearly bursting, and William opened the doors. It was filled with dresses that he had never seen Grell wear before, although he had to reluctantly admit he rarely saw Grell in anything other than his work attire. Hanging in front of the closet was something that William had seen far too much of – his beloved red coat. In all honesty, he hated the coat because it was a reminder of Grell's past deeds and that part of Grell that William couldn't even begin to understand. He had killed that woman who wore this coat, yet he had stitched it together lovingly despite the clumsy stitches. During his suspension, Grell had admitted he regretted killing the woman although he never expressed any remorse over the prostitutes he had helped to murder. It was an oddity since the so-called Madame Red was actually on the to-die list while some of the other women were not.

He closed the closet as best he could when he happened to notice a cardboard box on the floor that held Grell's belongings from his desk. Lying on top was Grell's nameplate, and he picked it up to run his fingers over the letters, which had begun to peel slightly. He would have to order a new one soon.

A soft noise echoed through the house, and William dropped the nameplate into the box quickly as he swiftly left the bedroom – recognizing the noise as the front door being opened and shut. He half hoped that it was Grell returning home, but he feared it was more likely someone else that would find him in the redhead's bedroom without any explanation. Returning to the living room, he was surprised to see Ronald entering from the hallway.

"Mr. Spears, sir," the young reaper gasped, "What are you doing here?"

That was a good question since William had no idea himself what possessed him to enter Grell's home, but he was not going to admit such a thing to Ronald. "I believe the better question is why you are here, and how did you get in? I believe I locked the door."

Ronald smiled sheepishly as he held up a key. "Senior Sutcliff gave me a copy of the key," he explained.

William frowned slightly. "I came here to straighten up his quarters," he said, which wasn't complete lie, "Some of his food has gone bad, and I thought it would be disrespectful for him to return home to a foul smell."

"Is he coming home soon?" Ronald asked. A hopeful light shimmered in his duel irises as he spoke, and William almost hated to disappoint him.

"I have no idea," William replied, adjusting his glasses, "You never answered my question, Knox. Why are you here?"

Ronald shrugged slightly. "I guess I was just sorta missing him, you know," he clumsily explained, "and his apartment still feels like…him somehow." He walked over and sat down on a plush sofa. Despite the fact he was sitting, his posture was still strained as if he fears William was going to force him to leave.

"I suppose," William relented, "If I may ask, why did Sutcliff give you a key?"

"Uh, it's a long story," Ronald said, looking down at his hands.

"You'd rather not say?"

There was a quick nod. "I don't think I should tell you," Ronald admitted, "You see, it was a long time ago, but I don't want to get into trouble."

Although he wouldn't have said so aloud, William was undeniably curious. "If it happened so long ago, I don't see how you could still be punished for the incident, no matter what it was." His words sounded hollow in his own ears considering what had happened to Grell, but he was hoping to convince Ronald to say whatever it was on his mind.

"Do you promise?" Ronald asked in a quiet tone.

"Yes."

Ronald grabbed a red pillow off of the couch and hugged it slightly. "When I was out on one of my early assignments," he began, "I…I had a breakdown."

William barely suppressed a gasp. Breakdowns were sadly common among new reapers. Something about a particular reap would remind them of their own lives or even their own suicide, and they would be unable to function. Such events were supposed to be reported immediately since it was a sign someone was unsuited for field work, and the agent in question was often transferred – or even met that unsaid fate of reapers who unfit for any work that would led to a chance at redemption. "I never knew that," he stated.

"Senior Sutcliff didn't tell anyone," Ronald continued, "He finished the reap without saying a word to me. I was a mess that night and, when he brought me back to this realm, I thought he was going to report me right away. Upper Management had already said they thought I wasn't going to be a good agent, so I thought it was all over for me. He practically had to carry me down the street, but instead of taking me to the office to file a report, he brought me here."

((x))

Ronald was still crying; the tears streaming down his face so that he couldn't see where he was going, and he sure he was stumbling far more than he walking. His arm was currently draped about Grell's shoulders, and he was leaning heavily on the red reaper. So far, Grell hadn't said a word, not even to complain, and Ronald was actually thankful for the quiet. While he was sure that he was going to be transferred very soon, at least Grell wasn't reminding him of his failure. Still blinded by tears, he felt himself being carried up a set of small steps. It seems they had reached their destination sooner that Ronald realized. "I'm so sorry," he began to mumble as a door was opened and he felt himself being led inside of a building.

While he was still doing his best to apologize, he felt himself being let down gently on a soft couch, and Grell stepped away. Ronald laid his head in his hands as he waited for the inevitable. Time passed slowly.

"Do you want a piece of chocolate?" Grell asked.

Slowly, Ronald raised his head and looked up at Grell, although he wasn't prepared for what he would see. In all of his time of knowing the redhead, he had never seen Grell without his typical makeup and work clothes. Grell's face had been freshly scrubbed, and Ronald could see the faint freckles across the bridge of his nose. The false eyelashes had been removed, and his hair had been piled on top of his head in a sloppy pony tail. His normal attire was replaced with red and pink silk pajamas, and he was holding a box of chocolates in his hand.

"Th…Thanks," Ronald managed as he took a piece of the chocolate. He looked at the candy for several minutes without putting in his mouth. "Why are we here?" he managed to ask, "I thought you'd take me back to the office and report what happened."

"I have quite a weakness for chocolate," Grell said as he took a piece and examined it, "I can't eat too much of it. Have to watch my figure after all, but I can't resist a piece every now and again."

"Senior Sutcliff!" Ronald cried, "Aren't you going to say anything about what happened?"

Grell looked at him quizzically. "Do you want me to?"

"I just thought," Ronald began helplessly, "I mean, aren't you going to report me?"

There was an odd smile from Grell as he popped a piece of chocolate in his mouth. "So," he said, "I heard you're dating a girl from accounting?"

"Her, along with others," Ronald answered, finally relaxing slightly. He was beginning to realize that despite talk of Grell's instability, the redhead wasn't going to report him. The night slowly passed, and they talked about everything except the unfortunate incident.

((x))

"Sutcliff never told me," William confirmed.

Ronald smiled sadly. "I realized later how much he trusted me and how much he did for me," he said, "He completely dropped the mask, and he could have faced a reprimand for not turning me in. After we talked that night, he gave me a key to this apartment and said that anytime I needed to talk or just a place to crash, I could come here." He sighed loudly as he turned to look at William. "Do you think he'll be back soon?" he asked.

"Probably," William answered, "That's why I wanted to clean out his kitchen and throw out all of the spoiled food."

"I'll help," Ronald offered as he stood up.

Together they walked into the kitchen, but William realized he had learned more about Grell in the short time he had listened to Ronald then he had in all the time he had spent around the redhead. He would have described Grell as volatile and unpredictable, but he had never stopped to consider that Grell could be warm and kind. In fact, he was even a little envious of Ronald for Grell had chosen to show his true self to the younger reaper, which was something William hadn't seen since they had graduated the academy.

As they cleaned the kitchen, William had wished that he had stopped this from every happening. Despite Grell's record, William wished that he could have remained strong and not given the evaluators any names. If he had only done that, Grell would still be with them now.

He only hoped that Grell would be back soon so that he could apologize for his own weakness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

The room hadn't changed in all the time that Grell had been here. It was still blank and featureless with those accursed, angled mirrors and the black, gaping maw of the chute behind her. She had change greatly, however, and there was no way to deny that fact. She was confronted with so many mirrors both here and in the little cell she had come to think of as her room, it was impossible to even lie to herself. Her hair which had painstakingly grew for so many years had been brutally and clumsily hacked off even shorter than it had been during her time at the academy. The red frames that she knew were her the moment Pops had placed them in her hand had been replaced with black, nondescript glasses which attempted to erase her individuality while improving her vision. Even her body had changed. During one traumatic period, food had been withheld in accordance with her supposed defiance, and the food hadn't been particularly nourishing when it had been served regularly. Without a scale, it was impossible to tell how much weight she had dropped, but she could see the harshness of her collar bone peeking out from above the white shirt and the prominence of bones in her wrists. It made her look even more angular and masculine.

"You are a man," the same voice she had heard since the first day stated, "Say it."

"No."

"If you don't say it, you will never be allowed to leave. Say it."

"Will I ever be allowed to leave even I did say it?" Grell asked as she fingered the collar about her neck. True to her word, Dr. Emily had gotten the guards to remove the device for a short time, but she had been forced to wear it again after getting into a scuffle with a guard.

For the first time, the voice over the speaker was softer. "You have made a lot of progress. This is the only area where you still refused to comply. If you state that you are a man, you will be allowed to leave here soon."

It sounded tempting, and she actually began to wonder how bad it would be just to say it. She didn't have to believe. They just had to hear the words from her own lips, and she might go free. Back in her own apartment, she'd know the truth and she'd be free from all this torture. She could see Ronald and William again. She could go back to the way things were before. All she had to do was to agree to one little lie.

"Say you are a man," prompted the voice.

She looked upward, tears filling her eyes as her heart beat in her thin chest. Just one little lie stood between her and freedom. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to answer.

"No."

There was a loud sigh, but Grell barely had time to focus as the collar came to life with its horrible pain. It no longer surprised Grell, and she was able to stay conscious longer each time it was used. Just like always, however, she eventually succumbed to the pain.

((x))

She awoke back in her cell on the same hard floor she had slept on for so long now. She had no idea how long she had been here because days and nights had ran together. There had been a feeble attempt at first to keep up with how many times she had been forced to stand in the other room, but each time was the same and her different visits blurred together. She could have been here for a few weeks or years at this point, but she no longer assumed it matter. No one had come to visit her, and she wondered if anyone really even cared.

The door opened and Dr. Emily walked in with the same two, simple chairs she always carried. Despite everything, Grell almost managed a smile at the familiar face as she struggled to her feet and made her way over to the chair that had been set aside for her.

"Good afternoon, Grell," the doctor greeted, "How are you today?"

"The same, I suppose," answered Grell, "It's all the same."

Dr. Emily smiled slightly. "You don't look healthy," she commented, "I'm so sorry that you had to do without food for a bit, but are you eating enough now."

Grell shrugged. "I really don't have that much of an appetite anymore."

There was a small nod in response. "Well, we were talking yesterday about the young reaper, Ronald Knox," Dr. Emily said, "So, how would you categorize your relationship."

There was a moment of hesitation as Grell looked at Dr. Emily in surprise. They had talked yesterday? It found like it had been several days prior, but Grell realized that just was an example of how time had little meaning to her now. "He's my friend," Grell answered, "He had been assigned to me briefly until I was caught up in the Jack the Ripper scandal."

"Why was he assigned to you?"

"I'm not sure," Grell lied. She knew very well that Upper Management had thought Ronald would never make it, so they had assigned him to the joke of the dispatch. Of course, they had turned the joke around since Ronald, while still a bit of a rookie, had proven everyone wrong. "But I'm happy that he was."

"You've told me before that you love William," began Dr. Emily, "Do you love Ronald as well?"

"Not in the same way," Grell answered, "I love Ronnie like he was my little brother. He can be obnoxious, but he's a sweet kid." She bit her tongue so she wouldn't add that Ronald had needed someone to look out for him.

"Do you think Ronald cares for you?"

"I guess," replied Grell, "I think we're close."

"Is it possible that you annoy Ronald like you said you feel you annoy William, but he's too nice to say anything?" Dr. Emily seemed to hate asking such a question.

"I…I hope not. I mean, I really care for Ronnie, and I wouldn't want to annoy him, but I guess I can be annoying at time." Grell's heart broke at the thought that even precious Ronald might not want anything to do for her, and she didn't hold back her tears.

"I think that's enough for today, Grell," Dr. Emily stated as she stood, "We'll talk more tomorrow."

Grell stood up so that the doctor could take both chairs, but there was a question that she needed to ask. "Dr. Emily?"

"Yes, Grell."

"If you say something that you know is a lie, but you know the truth in your heart, is that bad?" Grell stared down at the floor as she spoke.

Dr. Emily looked at her curiously. "I suppose not," she finally answered.

Taking a deep breath, Grell slowly raised her eyes even though there were still tears trying on her cheeks. "You know that…thing they keep wanting me to say. If I say it, will I be allowed to leave?"

"I'd say you'd be on the right path," answered the doctor, "From what I can see, as soon as that's out of the way there's only one little thing you have to do before you'd be allowed to go home."

"Then…then I guess I'll say it." Grell swallowed hard.

"Go on."

"I am…I'm a…I am a….man." The words tasted like bitter acid on her lips, but she knew that it wasn't true. She could say those words over and over and it would never change who she was on the inside. Just saying the words wasn't betraying her true self.

Was it?

Dr. Emily's smile was as beautiful as the sun Grell had been denied the sight of for far too long. "I'll let them know you said that. I'll bet they'll even let you move to a real room now. How would you like an actual bed to sleep on tonight?"

"I'd like that," Grell said, but she couldn't match Dr. Emily's joy. She was still reeling from the lie she had spat from her mouth like venom.

"I'll be right back," Dr. Emily promised as she stepped outside and closed the door – leaving Grell alone once again.

All alone with a lie.

((x))

In a crowded room, technicians and higher ups were watching a series of monitors. While Grell wasn't the only one at their facility, he definitely was the one whom the most attention was paid. The redhead had no idea he was the star of a secret production. Quietly, the woman that Grell called Dr. Emily slipped into the room.

"Good job, Miss Violet," a young technician said, "I didn't think we would ever get the freak to say that."

"It didn't really matter if he ever said those words or not," Miss Violet said, "We just had to break him. Only when his psyche was the most fragile would he accept the chip."

"You still have to get him to agree to the procedure," stated a young man with black hair and oversized glasses.

"No, I just have to get him to sign a simple sheet of paper. That will be easy enough." Miss Violet smiled. "We're finally almost done here, but this can't end soon enough. I was so sick of talking to that freak."

"Miss Violet, why was he so important?" asked the same young man.

A smile curved the woman's lip about her face in a most unpleasing manner. "Looks can be deceiving," she said, "Despite the fact he's a confused, unstable freak, he's the most powerful active reaper. We needed him controlled and contained so that he could be useful." She laughed loudly as she reached into her pocket to retrieve a cigarette that she quickly lit. "It was so easy to convince him that Mr. Spears had betrayed him. Little did any of them know that we would have taken him regardless of what Mr. Spears had said or anyone else. Besides, he did have the worst record. I can't believe he swallowed that lie." She laughed again before taking a long drag on the cigarette. "Is room C14 ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied the dark haired technician.

"Good," Miss Violet said as she stubbed out the cigarette on the console. "It looks Dr. Emily has at least one more performance to make. Let's get the freak to his room. Besides, he'll need his sleep because I do believe he's scheduled for surgery tomorrow."

((x))

The bed was soft and comforting, and Grell stretched out in most relaxing manner that she could, but she still was completely awake. Dr. Emily had finally gotten her an actual room with an actual bed, so she should have no trouble sleeping, but she found herself staring up at the eggshell white ceiling as her mind raged too loudly for her to sleep. She couldn't help but wonder how long she had been here and how everything was going to be when she finally returned. The daydreams of William running up to embrace her as he gushed about she was missed had died like a fragile flower in the desert heat, but she couldn't help but wonder if anyone had any issues with her absence. Up until recently, she would have thought that Ronald would miss her, but now she wasn't so sure. If she was nothing more than an annoyance, then perhaps he was thrilled that she was no longer there to pester him.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she felt she had none left to properly cry. Getting up out of bed, she shuffled towards the bathroom although had no desire to use the facilities. Flipping on the pale, yellow light, Grell confronted the one thing she feared the most. She stood staring at her reflection. She was no longer surrounded by mirrors for the only one is her new quarters was the one above the sink, but she knew she needed to face her reflection one final time.

"I had to say it," she whispered, "It's not true, but I had to tell that little lie just to get out of there."

Even as she watched herself mouth the words, she still felt betrayed. This time she wasn't betrayed by William, who had probably seen no other alternative then to send her to a place like this, but she had betrayed herself. For so long she had fought against people labeling her a mind purely on the basis of her body, yet she had done the same with her own lips. A true heroine would have died rather than to give voice to such a vile lie.

"Grell?" a familiar voice inquired.

Quickly washing her hands to hide the fact that she had just been looking at herself in the mirror, Grell stepped out of the bathroom to see the friendly face of Dr. Emily once more. She had been there when Grell had been brought to this room, but she was still happy to see the doctor. She was probably the only friend Grell had in this place, which may have been one more than she deserved. A tall, square shouldered man with silver hair and a white coat was standing behind the doctor.

"Yes, Dr. Emily," Grell said.

The woman smiled gently. "We're almost ready for our final procedure and then you can go home. Doesn't that sound good?"

"I suppose," Grell answered with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

"Wonderful!" Dr. Emily explained, "Now, please take a seat on the bed." Grell did as she was instructed, and soon Dr. Emily was handing her a sheet of paper and a pen. "Just sign this," she instructed.

"What's this?" Grell asked. She tried to read the paper, but she had trouble adjusting her eyes. It was probably because she was so tired.

"It's nothing," Dr. Emily said, "It's just standard paperwork to release you. Just sign your name right here." She pointed to a spot, and Grell signed as best she could. She doubted that her signature was legible as she was having trouble seeing the page. "Perfect," Dr. Emily compliment, "Now just lay back. We're going to have to give you a small injection now."

"Why?" Grell asked, but she had already lain back on the bed. She trusted Dr. Emily after all.

"It's just something we need to do," Dr. Emily explained, "but don't worry. When you wake up, you'll be on your way back home."

Grell nodded, and the large man jabbed a needle into her arm. The liquid he injected burned in her veins and she felt the effects almost immediately. Although she knew she was still lying on the bed, it felt as if she was falling down deeper and deeper into a hole. Just before losing consciousness, she saw Dr. Emily's face twist and contort into a smile that was anything but pleasant, but she wasn't sure if it was just an effect of the medicine or something much darker.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

The knock at the door was unexpected and thus unusual in William's evening routine. He frowned slightly, as he quickly pet Rosalind upon the soft, feathered head as if she needed reassuring. Glancing at the clock, it seemed late for a visitor, but he had no intent to leave someone simply standing outside his door entreating entrance. "I'll be there in a moment," he said, wiping his hands off on a towel before leaving the kitchen and walking through the living room towards the door.

A young man stood there nervously; continually shifting his weight from foot to foot. His shaggy, dark blonde hair was in desperate need of a trim as it fell over his eyes and no doubt obscured his vision slightly, but he managed at least a faint impersonation of a smile. "Uh, yes," he began in a stuttering tone, "Are you Mr. William T. Spears?"

"I am," William answered, "Precisely who are you?"

"I'm just a courier," the young man answered as he produced an envelope and a clipboard. "I have a letter for you. Would you sign here please?"

William's curiosity was piqued, but he managed to keep it under control as he signed the paper and accepted the envelope. There was nothing written on the envelope by his own name and address, so he had no idea as to the identity of the sender. Distractedly, he thanked the courier and shut the door as he examined the plain surface he held in his hands.

Rosalind nuzzled him slightly, and he scratched her chest. "It's foolish to send couriers," he said, "Everyone knows that pigeons are the most effective method for delivering mail. It's a waste of resources to assign this to an able body that could work in the field or at least in the office." Petting his beloved friend one more time, he opened the nondescript envelope, but his breath caught in his throat as soon as he read the first few lines.

Grell was returning.

Since Grell had left, William had struggled with the feeling that his routine had gone horribly askew. He never would have guessed that he would have actually missed the redhead's presence, but he had, although now he wasn't quite sure how he felt about his return. It would be nice to have things back to the way it should be, but he had no idea if Grell had changed. Perhaps the Reaper Reform Agency had managed to tame some of his chaos and mold him into a better employee. With Grell's natural talent, he could easily go down as one of the greatest reapers that had ever existed – especially since, according to the letter, his previous record had been completely expunged. It seemed like a perfect situation. Grell would be back where he belonged, but now he would be the model collections agent. William almost smiled at the thought.

Almost.

((x))

The next day William arrived even earlier than usual, although Grell wasn't scheduled to return until later. Still, there was a lot to do, and it felt good to be able to disperse of the nervous energy bubbling up inside him. It was rare he felt like this, and he didn't actually like that. He wanted to be in control of every situation, but he felt uneasy. It was almost as if there was the weight of an impending storm lingering overhead and he was just waiting for the first few drops of rain to fall. Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he quickly cleaned the junk from Grell's desk before anyone arrived and placed his nameplate in a prominent location. He had gone to Grell's apartment last night after getting the letter just to retrieve it.

Just as he returned to his appointed place in his doorway, he could hear the conversations drifting down the hall. He wasn't surprised that Grell's clean desk garnered no attention from most of the others, but Ronald noticed right away. Upon seeing the nameplate, he immediately hurried over to William.

"Is Senior Sutcliff returning today?" he asked hopefully.

William nodded. "He's supposed to be here later," he answered.

Ronald face broke into an incredibly sunny smile and he suddenly lunged towards William. It appeared that the younger reaper had almost moved to hug his normally cold supervisor, but thought better of it at the last second. "I'm glad to hear it," he said as he blushed slightly.

"I assumed as much," William replied stiffly, "Now go ahead and get started on your assignments. As I said, Sutcliff won't be here until later. There's no reason he should be greeted by an offices full of shirkers on his first day back at work."

"Mr. Spears, sir?" Ronald began.

"Yes, Knox."

"This was worse when Senior Sutcliff was suspended, wasn't it? I mean, then we could see him at his house in the evening if we wanted to and we didn't have to worry about anyone trying to brainwash him."

"Honestly," William sighed as he adjusted his glasses, "I have no idea what you are talking about. I never visited Sutcliff during his suspension, so I wouldn't have thought about that comparison, and you have been warned previously about spreading rumors concerning the Reaper Reform Agency."

Ronald looked at him strangely for a moment before running a hand throw his bicolored hair. "Yeah," he said, "You did say that." Without another comment he went back to the desk to retrieve his lists. Little did he know that William had already arranged that Ronald and Grell would be working on a joint reaping later this evening. He thought that both might enjoy that. Without waiting to see if Ronald's face changed when he saw the list, William turned quietly, closed his door, and made his way over the desk.

Time moved slowly. It was almost as if the hands on the wall clock were struggling with each passing of a second and were prepared to give up the fight. William tried to keep himself from looking at the time every few minutes, and he was acutely aware that he was accomplishing very little. The waiting was very frustrating, and he found himself wishing that Grell would simply return so that the matter could be resolved. A very soft knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and he frowned slightly. Grell rarely knocked, and, if he chose to do so, he knocked with confidence and energy. The sound reverberated on his door was far too weak and timid for Grell. "Enter," William ordered, dropping is eyes to the page before him. He didn't want his visitor to see that he was distracted.

He heard the door open softly and the sound of loafers on the tiled floor. "I've come for my assignments, Mr. Spears," a voice stated that was simultaneously familiar yet foreign.

Slowly William raised his eyes as he tightened his jaw muscles to keep his mouth from dropping open in surprise. If not for the flaming red hair, he would be barely able to recognize the reaper before him as Grell. His hair had been cut shorter than William had ever seen it, and an attempt had even been made to slick it back, although a few strands still chose to stick out slightly. The black framed glasses were standard issue and his suit, which was almost an exact copy of William's, was completely regulatory. All makeup and false lashes were absent, and Grell was noticeably thinner as well. "I've seen you've returned, Sutcliff," William finally managed as he stood. Without the heels, Grell was much shorter and had to look up more than usual to make eye contact with William. There was no emotion written on his usually expressive face as he simply looked at William without moving.

"That he has," announced another voice as a plain, brunette stepped into the room. "My name is Ms. Violet," she said, holding out a hand which William shook, "the head of the Reaper Reform Agency." She smiled as she clapped Grell on the back, and William noticed that the redhead barely moved. "I see that you are surprised by our work, but we ensure that our agency molds even the most unruly agent into a model employee. Do you have Mr. Sutcliff's assignments ready?"

"Yes," William answered, as he picked up stack of files which he handed towards the pair, "I thought desk work would be best to start with, although there are some reapings scheduled for this afternoon."

Grell reached out to take the folders from William, but his expression remained the same as if it had been frozen on his face. "Thank you, Mr. Spears," he said mechanically, "I'll get started right away, if that is acceptable."

"Of course," William replied. He was still stunned by this rather dramatic change and couldn't think of anything to say to Grell at the moment. With the files in hand, Grell nodded briefly towards William before exiting the room and shutting the door behind him. "What did you do to him?" William asked Ms. Violet, although he winced slightly when he realized how unprofessional the question sounded.

"It's a very simple procedure actually," the woman answered, seemingly very proud of herself. "A small device is placed deep within the brain that inhibits emotions. Without all those unnecessary feelings clouding their judgements, these volatile reapers focus on the tasks at hand. While under sedation, they are drilled mercilessly about protocol, although most know what they are supposed to do even if they choose otherwise. Simply stated, Mr. Sutcliff is incapable of feeling anything, and he will only act in a manner suitable for a reaper of his position." She laughed slightly. "He was a tough one to crack though," she added, "I don't envy anyone having to work with the freak in the past. Before the procedure can be done, their natural defenses have to be broken down and a waiver must be signed. Both can be done together, but that Sutcliff did have spirit. I was almost ready to consider him a lost cost and put in the paperwork for his termination."

William could barely believe his ears. "Is it moral to have someone sign a waiver when they are not in their appropriate state of mind?"

Ms. Violet shrugged as she frowned slightly. "I leave worrying about morality to the philosophers. I worry about results."

"What if there's a mistake?" William asked, "How do you undo it?"

She eyed him steadily. "I'm really concerned about this line of question, Mr. Spears. You almost sound as if you would want a worker that was completely out of control. To answer your question, there is no way to undo anything. The procedure is permanent, but we make no mistakes. All those we choose have questionable records and they do sign waivers agreeing to the procedure. We are only permitted to perform the procedure on the worst cases, and we still have to get a signature."

"A signature which you gain under duress," added William.

She shrugged her shoulders, but there was still an intensity burning in her eyes. "Say what you want, but we are only doing what is right. While you may refuse to see it, we are on the edge of a war. We were need agents like Sutcliff, but only if he is properly controlled. We need a warrior and not a wild beast that could inflict more danger than our enemy."

"I don't understand what you mean," William said.

"Of course you don't," she responded with a cold smile, "but you will soon enough. Good day to you sir, but I just might be back. Sutcliff isn't the only agent we've had our eyes on."

For a few minutes, William could only stare at the door that the woman had closed behind her as he tried to process their brief conversation. He had no idea what the woman had meant by an upcoming war, although it must have Upper Management in a real tizzy to go to such extremes. At the same time, he couldn't understand how they could justify their actions. Grell did need to calm down and gain some control. He had done horrible things in the past, but it was unfair that he should have to pay with his ability to feel anything.

Finally getting his own emotions under control, William stepped out of his office and walked over to where Grell was working diligently on the paperwork William had handed him only a short time ago. "Sutcliff?" William asked.

Grell paused and looked up at him. "Yes, Mr. Spears?"

"You can drop the Mr. Spears," William instructed, "You've never used it before."

"It is the only appropriate way to address a supervisor, Mr. Spears." No sarcasm laced the voice, and it was obvious Grell was speaking in earnest.

William leaned closer. He was aware that there were eyes upon him from the other workers, but he still had to ask one final question. "Are you still in there, Grell?"

"I do not understand what you mean, Mr. Spears," Grell replied, but then a light briefly flashed in his eyes. It was so tiny, William could have thought he might have only imagined it, but he knew what he was seeing. Despite what this agency had done to him, a part of the true Grell had somehow survived. The redhead's emotions weren't completely lost, but those feelings seemed to be deeply buried.

Still unsure how to go about what to do next, William returned to his office as he tried to plan his next move. Someone had to know about this procedure and if there was any way it could be reversed. It would be unfair to leave Grell in his current condition, and William had no intentions of not trying to find some means to help the redhead, even if it did mean losing the so-called perfect worker.

Besides, this wasn't some a perfect version of Grell. This was just a diligent robot that vaguely resembled the once vivacious reaper.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Grell sat at her desk carefully filling out the paperwork she had been handing. So far a few of the agents had spoken to her, but her responses had been simple and almost monosyllabic. Although she had said nothing inappropriate, she could see the confused looks on the faces of those she addressed, but she was unable to do or say anything to explain her responses.

Miss Violet was a liar.

Besides learning that Dr. Emily was not a doctor in the least, Grell had listened helplessly as she was told about something that had actually been put inside her brain. It was supposed to inhibit all emotion and not allow her to feel anything. Miss Violet looked on smugly as Grell hadn't said anything in response and only answered direct questions. That vile woman seemed to think that she had done something grand as she explained how Grell was now the model employee, but none of it was true.

Grell could feel. Her emotions stirred in her as passionately as ever, but she couldn't do anything to express how she felt. She had first realized this when Miss Violet was explaining what they had done to her. Grell had wanted to argue and rage, but she found herself simply sitting there and listening like an obedient student. Her body no longer listened to her commands, and it was as if she was trapped. Being trapped within her own body wasn't a particularly new experience, but this was an extreme that she could have never imagined.

"Senior Sutcliff!" a familiar voice suddenly exclaimed. Ronald must have been in the breakroom when she had arrived, but now she heard him running towards her and felt her arms wrap about her chest. It was such a sweet gesture, but she could do nothing to reciprocate. She couldn't even cry tears of frustration at her inability to tell the young reaper how happy she was to see him again. "How are you doing?" he asked.

She turned slightly, and it pained her to know that her face was set in the same, emotionless expression she wore constantly like an irremovable mask. "I am doing well, Agent Knox."

 _Don't listen to me, Ronnie! I can't control what I'm saying._

Ronald stepped back, confusion painting his youthful features, but then he attempted a pained smile. "You almost had me there for a minute," he said with a forced laugh, "but how are you really doing? I've really missed you."

"As I stated before, Agent Knox, I am doing well. If you will excuse me, I must return to my paperwork. Agent protocol 1005.7 states that all conversations not pertaining directly to work related activities are to be kept to a minimum during working hours." She turned around and pursued the papers, but the emotions burned within her. Tears that she could never cry flooded her heart as she thought about how she was hurting her only true friend.

Thick, heavy silence followed, but she knew Ronald was still standing behind her. At the moment, she would have given anything to be able to turn around, hug him, and tell him how much she had missed him, but her eyes scanned the paperwork instead. It was even hard for her to entertain such thoughts as that weird item that Miss Violet had said was implanted in her head forced her to focus on her works.

"What did they do to you?" Ronald finally whispered.

 _They took everything from me, or at least they tried to, but I'm still here, Ronnie. On the inside, I'm still Grell. I wish I could show you._

After a few minutes of silence, she heard Ronald walking back to his own desk, and her heart ached for him. Even though she still feared that he might find her annoying, she loved the junior reaper and never wanted to hurt him. As time passed, the stack of papers slowly became smaller, but the lump in her throat grew bigger and bigger.

((x))

It was a standard job, and there had been no actual reason for William to assign both of them to collect the few records that died in this rather minor accident. Perhaps the supervisor had did this to be nice because he was aware how much Ronald had missed Grell all of this time, but this was more of a punishment than a reward. The red reaper currently reviewing the records behind him was not Grell. Ronald wasn't quite sure who it was, but it most certainly wasn't Grell.

Ronald had noticed that Grell had looked different the moment he saw him sitting at his desk but assumed that he had only been forced to cut his hair and wear the boring suit. He hadn't cared what Grell had looked like because more excited at his return, so he had embraced the older reaper in a warm hug to ask him how he was doing. Sadly, Grell's robotic answers told him more than he even wanted to know. Ronald no longer cared with William said. Grell had been brainwashed. While the reaper that he now worked with was efficient and dependable, there were no smiles, no laughter, no silly innuendo, and nothing of Grell. Ronald could have a more meaningful conversation with the coffee pot in the office breakroom.

"Nothing of note," Grell stated aloud, stamping the file before turning towards Ronald. "There is nothing else to be done here. We should return to the office." His voice held no inflections or emotions.

"Sure," Ronald agreed, creating a portal. Grell always wanted to have a bit of fun in the human world before returning, but he didn't think this version of Grell could even have fun. Without saying a word, they returned to the office, and Grell immediately made his way to his seat. Ronald's destination, however, was slightly different as he walked into William's office. He wanted to storm in and demand an explanation, but Ronald managed to control himself enough to shut the door quietly.

"Mr. Knox?" William asked as he looked up from a rather thick book lying on the desk before him.

Ronald took a few shaky steps forward. "Who is that?" he demanding, pointing towards the closed door to indicate the office, "Who is that, because it's not Grell." In his myriad of emotions, he forgo his the usual titles.

William's expression only barely faltered, but Ronald could see the older man's shoulders slump slightly. "I know," he admitted.

"What did they do to him?" Ronald demanded, tears welling up in his eyes.

William's next action caught Ronald by surprise as he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was brief, and William replaced the glasses only a moment later, but it was an unusual action. It was well-known that William's eyesight was particularly bad, even among the reapers, and there were rumors he even slept in his glasses. "You were right, Knox," William finally said.

"Right?"

"About the brainwashing," clarified William, "I would have never believed it. I still don't know how it was ever approved or condoned, but you were right."

Ronald stared at him for a moment in shock. "They really did brainwash him?" he asked. For some reason he just couldn't accept what he had just heard.

William stood and walked over to the window where he stared out at the view, although Ronald wasn't sure if he was actually looking at anything. "They put something inside his brain," he finally said, "that doesn't allow him to feel anything. It must be something new because I can't find any information about this device or if there's any way to remove."

For the first time Ronald noticed all the books scattered in an uncharacteristically cluttered manner about William's normally pristine office. He hadn't been studying protocol when Ronald had walked in but rather searching for a way to help Grell. "What are we going to do?" Ronald asked.

A soft knock interrupted William before he could answer. "Enter," William said, and Grell mechanically walked into the room with a stack of papers in his arms.

"All the paperwork has been completed, sir," Grell announced, as he strode forward to set the aforementioned papers on William's desk, "As it is after hours and all work has been completed, I will be going home now."

"Of course, Sutcliff," William said.

When a barely perceptible nod of the head, Grell turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Ronald watched as his heart broke to see his beloved friend acting so unlike himself. "You have to find some way to help him," he said.

"I don't know how," William admitted, "but I intend to try."

((x))

Grell walked quietly into her silent apartment. Although he face didn't, couldn't, change from its neutral setting, her heart soared at the familiar surroundings. She had finally returned home, or rather some part of her had returned home. Even in the solitude of these familiar walls, Miss Violet's work continued to control her every movement. She would have loved to simply drift through her apartment as if this was nothing more than a dream and touching all of her precious belongings, but protocol dictated that she had other matters to attend to first.

Her first order of business was to change for her uncomfortable, unstylish suit. As she did so, her eyes fell upon her disorganized closet, but she found that the strange device buzzing in her head wouldn't allow her to wear most of her clothes. Finally, a simple pair of red pajamas seemed to be the most satisfactory item she owned, so she put those on before leaving the bedroom and going into her kitchen.

Someone had been here while she was away, but she was thankful because she could see that some of the fruit that was surely spoiled had been thrown away. While she didn't know for sure, she would guess that it was Ronald since he had a key, and he was the only one who would have done something so considerate. He was also probably the one who had taken her nameplate from the box in her bedroom and put it on her desk. Ronald was just so unbelievably sweet sometimes.

She couldn't dwell on such matters as her body decided now it was time to make a nutritious meal. While she did try to eat healthy, she still like certain indulgences from time to time, but that didn't seem in line with the Reaper Reform Agency's ideals. It wasn't that the food that she was preparing was bad, but it wasn't what she would have picked herself. The grilled chicken actually smelled good, and a fresh salad was nice as well, but she really would have liked something sweet for dessert. She supposed that she was also required to keep her body healthy, especially since she had heard Miss Violet and the others talking about some sort of war.

After eating, she began to clean. First was the dishes and her kitchen, but then she began to straighten up the house. Watching helplessly from within her own body, she saw as she threw away things that she had been saving. It was foolish, simple tokens, but each one had held a memory for her. Normally, she would have spent an evening like this pursuing a good novel and not throwing out things that she had been holding on to for years.

Once she finished with the rest of the house, her feet carried her back to the bedroom, but she screamed silently from within her own mind when she saw that she was being drawn to the closet. She retrieved a large bag for trash and began throwing away the dresses she only got to wear on her days off, but she still loved those dresses. It was one of the few times that she got to truly be herself. Within a few minutes, there were only a few dress shirts, jackets, and pants that would be deemed acceptable.

And one red coat with clumsy stitching.

Her hands, trembling ever so slightly, reached for that precious coat as the trash bag set waiting like an eager, hungry mouth. She knew nothing about that coat would be acceptable to any agency, but she didn't care. Although she had made plenty of mistakes, she loved that coat and could never imagine parting with it, but her body seemed to have different intentions. Slowly, her hands closed on the soft, red material as she started to pull it from the hanger.

The clock on her nightstand suddenly alarmed, and she vaguely remembered setting it when she had been in here earlier. It was time for bed, so throwing out the rest of her life had to wait. With relief, she reset the alarm and crawled beneath the covers on her bed.

As she fell asleep, however, she found herself really thinking about what she had overheard just before entering William's office. Apparently William had been trying to learn more about the device placed within her mind and Ronald, practically whispering at that moment, had asked what they were going to do. Had she still had the ability to cry, she would have shed tears knowing that they were actually talking about helping her. Quietly, she pleaded within her heart.

 _Please, William, Ronald, find some way to save me._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The inside of the building was dark and musty with cobwebs littering the corners like ruined lace. William stood there uncomfortably as his eyes probed the darkness. Reaper's eyes, in conjunction with their specially designed glasses, allowed them to see quite well in even the dimmest of light since there were quite a few reaps that took place at night, but even his eyesight was no match for one of his kind who wished to hide. "You know I'm here, Undertaker," William finally said, "Just like I know you're here. You can come out and talk, or I'll just leave. I'm not in the mood for your games."

Creepy laughter began; softly at first but slowly growing in volume until Undertaker emerged from a coffin off to the side. He seemed to like to switch up with coffin he hid in from time to time, although William had grown accustomed to this little act. "Time for another review, Willy boy?" asked the older reaper as he walked past William to dramatically plop his somewhat lanky frame on a coffin.

After the incidents on the Campania, Undertaker had disappeared for a bit doing who knows what, but he had suddenly reappeared one day as if he had simply gone on vacation. He had agreed to meet with Upper Management, but William's surprise there was no real punishment. He wasn't sentenced to the celestial prison or assigned any tasks. They hadn't even confiscated his precious scythe. Instead, they had simply allowed him to return to his work, although he wasn't supposed to leave the premises without permission and he was to allow random visitations to make sure he wasn't up to anything. "I'm not here for a review," William answered.

Undertaker cocked his head to the side, his strange smile curling about his face. "You don't like me much, do you Willy?" he asked.

"I certainly don't care for nicknames. I would prefer for you to call me as Mr. Spears," William immediately responded, although he wasn't actually sure what he thought of Undertaker himself. When he had first entered the academy, he had studied the heroes and legends of the reapers in hopes of improving himself. Even in that time, Undertaker's true name had been lost, but he was referred to as one of the legends, and his exploits lived up to such a moniker. Most of the books, however, only stated that he had disappeared. It wasn't until he was promoted to supervisor did he learn that this supposed hero was a deserter. This was hard for him to process since the two images just couldn't be merged within in his head. Adding to this complication were his actions on the cursed ship. William liked to be able to categorize individuals into nice, neat little groups, but he just couldn't figure out if he was supposed to think of Undertaker as an ally, enemy, or even a neutral party. Somehow he seemed to be all three yet none simultaneously.

Undertaker sat there with his head still tilted and William assumed he was looking at him, although it was impossible to know beneath the thick fringe of hair covering most of his face. "There's no need to be formal here," he announced as he leaned back and gestured about him, "but if you're not here to check on old Undertaker, then why are you here…William?" His smile grew as he leaned forward. "If it's for information, then you know my price."

"I certainly didn't come here for such foolishness," William answered, "and I'm sure you can find your own entertainment. My purpose for coming here is purely to obtain any information you might have concerning the Reaper Reform Agency and any sort of implanted device that might control behavior."

Undertaker waggled his finger as if correcting a disobedient child. "Now, now," he chided, "Nothing is free you know, and my price is such a small one."

William sighed as he turned and tugged at his already straight jacket. "Honestly," he said, "I should have known this was a waste of time."

"Although, I suppose I should admit that I really don't know anything about such an agency," Undertaker announced, "or implanted devices."

Glancing back at the old reaper, William saw he had stood up from the coffin with a swish of black robes and silver hair and had moved to a makeshift desk where he reached inside an urn. Perhaps perceiving William's gaze, he leaned the urn towards William. "Biscuit?" he offered.

"No thank you," William replied, "I suppose the agency is rather new. I've only heard of it recently, and I didn't even know the technology existed – even in our realm."

"So," Undertaker began as he munched away on a biscuit, "Why are you so interested in all this?"

William paused but decided there was nothing to lose by being honest in this case. "Sutcliff," he answered, "He was sent there."

"Sutcliff? Oh, you mean that little, red reaper. I always found him to be entertaining, and he certainly had more of a sense of humor than most of the reapers these days."

"You probably wouldn't find him so entertaining now," offered William, "He was sent away to the reform agency I mentioned, and they planted a device deep inside of his brain. He can't express any emotions or do anything that isn't strictly by the books."

Undertaker paused chewing and, even with most of his face covered, it was obvious to see the news distressed him. "I see," he finally said in an oddly subdued tone, "I'm not sure why you would be here then. I'd think you'd like to see him like that."

"I did want Sutcliff to gain more control over his impulses," William admitted, "but the procedure that was performed on him seems highly immoral. He needed to be subdued, but his entire personality didn't need to be erased."

Undertaker removed his hat and pulled back a few strands of hair until one brilliant eye was visible. William had always heard that reaper eyes became more luminous and powerful as time went on, and he could believe it as he felt almost as if he was drowning in those green-gold pools. "I always thought you might be a tad afraid of him," he said, "having faced him myself, I know he's strong. Easily distracted, but strong."

In truth, William was afraid. He didn't fear anything that Grell might do to him directly, but he was afraid of what trouble Grell might cause for himself. Since Grell had rescued him during their final exam, William had silently made the pledge to return the favor, but found himself forced to assume the role again and again. It was as if he was forced to serve a second penance along with just being a reaper. Like Undertaker, he wasn't quite sure how to categorize Grell. For the most part he was a subordinate and ally, but he couldn't fully trust him either, which made William nervous. "I know he's strong," William stated, trying to drown out the other thoughts roaring his mind, "In fact, that's why the Reaper Reform Agency was so interested in him. They seem to believe that a battle between reapers and demons will soon be here, and Grell's strength was valuable, but only if he was under control." He turned around fully and pinned Undertaker with a gaze of his own. "This war," he continued, "that's why they allowed you to come back without so much as a slap on the wrist, isn't it? They're interested in your strength as well. You should hope that they don't decide that you need to be controlled in the same manner."

Undertaker smiled mysteriously as he allowed his hair to fall into place. "That would be most unfortunate," he said, "and further incentive for me to figure out a way to save our little redhead." He chuckled slightly. "You say this device is in his brain. Do you have any idea where or if there's a way to take it out?"

"I was told it was permanent," William answered, "but other than being somewhere within his brain, I have no idea of the exact location."

"Well, it's rather dangerous to just go poking around and trying to find it," Undertaker said, "We need to get at least an idea of where it's at."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

Undertaker took another bone shaped biscuit from the urn and chewed thoughtfully. "I've heard that certain demons have the ability to look inside a person. Peculari illuminas visionem I believe it's called. It's so they can see a soul before they make a contract. I would suspect that a certain demon we both know would possess this talent."

"Ignoring the fact you're suggesting I actually go to a demon for help," William began, "Why would he be willing to simply offer his assistance to either me or Sutcliff?"

"I guess you'll just have to be persuasive," Undertaker answered with a lazy yet interested smile.

((x))

William could have teleported to Phantomhive Manor in a matter of seconds but had chosen to walk as he tried to get his thoughts in a straight, orderly manner. He shouldn't be here. He wanted nothing to do with a disgusting demon, nor did he have any illusions that Sebastian would be willing to help. Undertaker had jokingly said to be persuasive, but William wasn't quite sure of what actions to take. He had noted at the circus that Sebastian had seemed to avoid direct physical confrontation and had been willing to make a deal of sorts. While this avoidance could have been merely the demon's attempt to prevent detection, William rather hoped he still wouldn't want to fight directly. He would fight if he had to, but he feared that time might be of the essence for Grell. In all reality, he wasn't even sure why he was trying so hard to help the redhead except for that debt that William still felt that he owed. With a false calmness, he strode to the front door and raised his hand to knock, but the door opened before his fist had even touched the wood. Without warning, William found himself standing face to face with the despicable demon as his nostrils were assaulted with the foul smell that always accompanied the creatures. Sebastian opened his mouth to speak – no doubt with an air of practiced courtesy and charm, but William didn't want to hear what he had to say.

"A situation arose that might require your help, as much as I loathe to admit it," William announced, "I've heard that vile creatures such as yourself sometimes possess the ability to look inside a person, and I need to know if you have this particular talent."

A sinister smile, like that of a cat eyeing a plump bird, took possession of Sebastian's faux handsome visage. "I might have this talent," he said, "but I find it odd that you would come here. Tell me, Mr. Dispatch Supervisor, what crisis would lead you to come crawling prostrate to a vile creature, such as you call me, for help?"

"I am not crawling," William growled. His voice had raised slightly and he could hear the tremor of rage lacing his tone. "I only inquired of a simple matter, but I am fully aware now that I was expecting too much of a collared beast like yourself." He turned to go, although he secretly worried that he might be jeopardizing the entire operation with his unwillingness to work with Sebastian. Still, there was no guarantee that Sebastian could even look inside of another and even less chance that he would agree to help Grell.

"If you think that challenging my talents as a demon will break down my defenses," Sebastian said with a light tone, "then you are sorely mistaken."

William spun around, his scythe appearing in his grasp which gave him more confidence. "Then tell me straight. Do you have this ability?"

"I do."

"Very good," William replied, pausing slightly as he tried to steel his nerves. He adjusted his glasses slightly as he stared Sebastian down with more confidence then he felt. "I need you to use that talent to look inside of someone."

"And why should I help you?" Sebastian said, "It doesn't seem particularly beneficial for me."

"Perhaps we can make some sort of deal," William said. He spit out the words, but he could still taste them on his lips.

Sebastian looked at him smugly. "I really don't think you have anything of interest to offer me. Good day, then." He started to shut the door.

With a growl, William extended his scythe aiming straight for the forehead of that mask the demon wore as a face. Sebastian dodged it easily as it pierced into the wooden frame. "If you wish to fight," he said, "I'd be more than happy to oblige, although I do wish you would avoid damaging the estate. Continual repair is tedious and annoying. Still, even if some miracle happens and you are victorious, I'm not going to use my ability to help you."

William stood for a moment, but he knew they were at a stalemate. He was not confident he could take on Sebastian, although he was more than willing to try. At the same time, he had to have Sebastian's cooperation for this to even work. With a soft sigh, he retracted his scythe and was treated to another one of Sebastian's smug smiles before the door closed.

This hadn't turned out as he had hoped, although it was exactly what he had expected. Perhaps there was another way. There had to be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

Grell's eyes opened the very second she was supposed to awaken and with more reliability than any alarm clock. That horrible, invasive thing they had planted in her head controlled every action ever second of the day, and it felt more and more like she was a prisoner in her own body. Normally, she would have lain in bed just a few more minutes as she mentally prepared herself for the day ahead, but her body moved instantly to stand, make the bed, before going into the bathroom to get dressed. Had she still possessed the ability, she would have cried.

At least William would never have any reason to complain about her tardiness as it didn't appear that she would ever be late again. Each movement was precise as measured as she got ready. There was even time for a light yet healthy breakfast before stepping out and making her way towards Dispatch.

Cruelties were heaped upon her. She couldn't even pause to look at the rising sun. While she never had been particularly fond of waking early, there was something about the sunrise that she had always found peaceful and hopeful. It was the dawn of a new day and new possibilities, or at least this had been true in the past. She had the feeling now that all her days from this point was the same and there was no new possibilities. Her fast paced steps didn't allow her much time to reflect on such matters, however, as she walked into dispatch and made her way to her familiar desk. A few coworkers mumbled greetings, but now that the novelty of the new her was starting to fade, she was becoming invisible once more. She had never been seen in life, and now it looked the pattern was about to repeat itself once more.

Her assignments were laid out upon her desk, and it appeared that William had given her mostly desk duty for the day, but there was an unusual yellow sheet lying on top of the usual stack. Even though she had never seen one before, she knew that this was an official order from Upper Management. Scanning over the paper, she realized it was a peculiar assignment, but she couldn't have argued against it had she even wanted. Summoning a routine death scythe as she hadn't been able to use her precious, modified one since the procedure, she started to leave the office.

"Where are you going, Sutcliff?" William asked. She hadn't even noticed him before, but now he was standing directly behind her, "I believe you're on desk duty today."

"I received a direct assignment from Upper Management, Mr. Spears," she answered directly, turning around to face Will directly, "It takes precedence over my usual assignments."

William frowned and took the yellow order from her grasp without asking. His frowned only deepened as he read the contents. "This doesn't make any sense," he announced, "I need to contact Upper Management myself. Please wait here."

"I'm not allowed to do that, sir," Grell replied, "Field Agent Protocol Standards state that I'm to complete all assignments from Upper Management without delay or question. I ask that you please return the order."

 _Please, Will, this isn't me. You can see it. Can't you? Find some reason that I have to stay here. Find some way to help me._

He looked at her directly for a few minutes, and she could see he wanted to say more, but his mouth remained closed. Finally, he handed the paper back to her, but there was a strange emotion in his usually cold eyes. "I'm going to contact them now," he said in a slightly hoarse tone.

She supposed he had no way to stop her, and she inwardly sighed as she turned to hurry on with her assignment. This really was out of the ordinary and not something she had predicted would happen. Perhaps this was part of the reason she had been chosen for this cruel, science experiment.

Once outside of dispatch, she created a portal which took her to a grey, featureless roof in a part of London she knew all too well. Looking down, she could see the two figures walking through the old, soiled snow, but they oddly hadn't seemed to notice her presence just yet. Normally, she would have called down to them so they could have least scene her beautiful, deadly form descending down upon them, but that was the old Grell. She wasn't even sure if she was Grell anymore.

Silently, she leapt from the room and aimed straight for the taller of the two, but Sebastian suddenly seemed aware that she was descending towards him. Knocking Ciel out of the way, he turned and quickly threw some silverware in her direction, but she had been prepared for such a response. She knocked the knives away with ease with the scythe while still twisting it around aiming straight for the demon. Sebastian jumped back, but she still managed to pierce his shoulder slightly. His normally stoic face twisted into a grimace as he twisted away and blood began to leak from the wound. It wasn't quite deep enough to bring out any records, but the injury had hurt.

"Well, this was an unexpected surprise," Sebastian, smiling at her with charismatic smile, "I suppose this has something to do with the visit I had from your supervisor, but I'm afraid that any effort to recruit my help are in vain. I have no desire to help a reaper."

Her heart jumped in her chest for she would have never guessed that Will would have ever gone to such lengths as to speak to Sebastian. Of course, she still wasn't sure how or what that had to do with her, but perhaps there was some connection. She wanted to ask Sebastian more about it, but she was already preparing to attack once more. For all his cockiness and arrogance, Sebastian did seem to be caught off guard a bit by her silent aggression. It didn't actually bother her too much to attack Sebastian since their encounters had always been a bit of game for her, but she hated to end such a pleasant distraction so abruptly. After effortlessly repelling a kick, she lunged forward and pinned Sebastian's hand to a nearby wall. There were at a stalemate of sorts since she couldn't kill him without removing the scythe from his hand but doing so would only free him from his current predicament.

There was no actual protocol for her situation. She had been ordered by Upper Management to kill Sebastian, but most rules actually deterred from direct contact with a demon. If a reaper could not freely use his or her death scythe, it was permissible to summon a backup, but this was only to be a last resort. For the first time, she faltered for the thing within her mind could not provide a clear answer. While still contemplating her dilemma, a pigeon flew in with a note tied about its leg, and she was able to remove the attached letter with one hand. Without freeing Sebastian, she quickly read the note and saw that Upper Management had changed their minds. Apparently, they now believed that attacking Sebastian would actually hurt their chances in that mysterious upcoming battle she had heard being whispered about while in the reform agency. The order this morning had proclaimed that it was important to kill Sebastian immediately, and he even told her where he would be found, but it seemed that her ruthless puppet masters were as fickle as they were corrupt. Without a word of explanation, she pulled the scythe free from Sebastian's hand and started to turn away.

Sebastian didn't seem so willing to let the matter go as he jumped into the air to attack. He had been caught off guard earlier, but now he wouldn't be so nearly easy to fight. There was a chance that this would still end with one of their deaths. As she turned to face him, the boring, plain scythe in her tight grasp, she readied herself for his assault. Luckily, the protocol drilled into her mind still allowed her to defend herself if necessary, but it soon became evident that she wasn't alone in this fight as a very recognizable, ancient scythe appeared between her and Sebastian.

Undertaker moved swiftly and elegantly into view. His customary smile was plastered on his pale, scarred face, but somehow she knew the vivid eyes hidden by the fringe of hair were trained on Sebastian. Undertaker wasn't alone either. Glancing upward, she saw William standing on another rooftop watching the whole scene. Although she hadn't sense him before now, she had the feeling he had been watching her for a long time.

"Undertaker," Ciel hissed. The boy had been standing nearby, hugging a brick wall for most of the fight. Because Grell had not been sent to attack him, he had escaped her notice since trading the first blows with Sebastian.

"Hello, young Earl," Undertaker greeting in an oddly cheerful tone, "I suppose it is time for a chat now, isn't it? However, I have business with your butler this time around."

Sebastian smiled, but his eyes had taken on a dangerous glow. "And what business would that be?" he asked.

"I know that Willy came to you to ask for your help, but you turned him down," Undertaker said, "By any chance, did he tell you who we needed you to look inside of and why?"

"I don't believe we got that far in our negotiations," Sebastian replied.

Undertaker took a step forward, as he leaned his head back so that one of his eyes was visible. "It's for Grell, here," he said, "Something was placed inside his brain. It controls him, and doesn't allow for any emotions." The retired reaper chuckled loudly. "Controlled chaos is more dangerous, wouldn't you say? Besides, it only took a single misdirecting letter from me to have Upper Management to call for your demise. Good thing I sent the second letter saying it's a mistake." He laughed again.

"So what is it you wish for Sebastian to do?" Ciel demanded.

"It's quite simple," Undertaker said, "Take a look inside of Grell's head and see where this device has been implanted. If we have some idea where this thing is, we might have a chance at taking it out."

Sebastian cocked his head slightly. "You are asking me to help Grell?" he asked in a mocking tone. "Even if he is more dangerous, it was rather refreshing not to hear the usual vile and vulgar talk for a change."

Undertaker didn't flinch. "It would only take another letter to have every reaper in this district after you," he said, "Even if you don't care, it would be hard to keep our young Earl safe. Wouldn't you agree? Besides, I might have information he might find useful. Information regarding some of my personal treasures he has in his possession."

Ciel made a noise that between a growl and a grumble of disappointment. "Do it, Sebastian," he commanded in a low tone.

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian agreed, although his face made it clear that he didn't like that command. His normally brown irises took on a purple hue as the pupils transformed into narrow slits. "It's in his right temple," he said, tapping the corresponding place on his own head, "near the ear."

"Now, that wasn't so hard," Undertaker said cheerfully, "Now, I'll be keeping my part of the bargain as well. Stop by my shop tomorrow, and I'll tell you a wee bit about my treasures – as well as your own family, my young lord." He took Grell by the arm and started to lead her away, "Now then, my dear," he said, "Let's see about getting you fixed up."

"Watch out!" William suddenly shouted.

Grell turned just in time to see Sebastian jumping towards her and his foot making solid contact with her head. The pain was both unexpected and intense as she fell backwards and was only vaguely aware of the accompanying shouts.

((x))

William was shocked to see that Undertaker had actually followed through and got Sebastian to tell them where the device was located. While he was still hesitant to trust a demon, he could see that Undertaker's words had an effect. Sebastian had always been able to handle Grell in the past through distraction and outthinking him, but this version of Grell didn't waver so easily. He only wished he knew precisely why Undertaker was so willing to help.

It seemed to be going well, until Undertaker turned away with Grell walking by his side. In a flash almost too quick for his own eyes to follow, Sebastian jumped forward. William shouted out a warning and also jumped into the alley, but it was too late. Grell was lying motionless on the ground and that demon was just standing there looking rather smug and satisfied.

"Honestly," William said, "I suppose it's too much to expect a demon to do the honorable thing, but that was a rather low move, even for one of your kind."

Sebastian looked at both William and Undertaker as he sized up their scythes, but then William heard something behind him. A familiar roar suddenly ripped through the night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

 _Sorry for the delay with this chapter._

The roar of Grell's chainsaw cut through the near silence of the night as danger filled the air. William was shocked for he had come to believe that Grell could no longer call upon his 'sharp-toothed friend' as he often called his scythe, but he turned and saw it with his own eyes. Things weren't precisely the same, however, because the blank, emotionless expression was still cast upon Grell's face like a contemptible mask. Only the eyes flashed with life and rage.

William turned back with the intent on helping Grell end the foul demon's existence, only to find there was no trace of him. In those few moments William had been looking at Grell, Sebastian had left the scene with his young master as efficiently as if he had been nothing more than an illusion. A part of William was tempted to go after the foul beast, but it seemed more prudent to check on Grell at this moment. "Are you okay?" he asked as he walked closer to peer down into his face.

"I am unharmed, Mr. Spears," Grell answered in a bland, mechanical tone, but those flashing green gold eyes spoke volumes. William now knew with certainty that he could at least glimpse the real Grell despite all that had been done.

"I wasn't aware you could still summon your scythe," William stated. It wasn't what he wanted to say but more appropriate words seemed to be escaping him at the moment. "How were you able to do it?"

"I was angry."

William blinked. Although the answer had been direct and said in the same monotone, this was the first time he had heard Grell express any emotion since he had been taken to the reaper reform agency. "Grell," he began, but his voice failed him beyond that. In those brilliant eyes, he still could see the same fiery spirit he had known for all this time, but he had no idea how to traverse the gulf between those emotions and what Grell could openly display. Never before had Grell been so close yet so far away. "I don't know what to do," he finally admitted, "I was trying to help you."

"You did, Willy," Undertaker said, "I think that kick knocked the device loose, at least a little." He looked down at Grell carefully. "Do you feel any different now? Are you in control?"

"I don't know, sir," answered Grell.

"Can you smile?" William asked. It had been a long time since he had seen Grell's smile, and he missed it.

For a few minutes, there was no change or movement on Grell's face, but then his lips twitched ever so slightly. Slowly, like a flower struggling to bloom, his mouth curved upward in a barely perceptible arc, but there was at least a faint smile. After a moment, however, Grell suddenly flinched as if he had been slapped and smile faded.

"What happened?" questioned William, "Did that hurt?"

"I felt some sort of shock, Mr. Spears," replied Grell.

"It's probably a safety measure," Undertaker said, "to keep Grell from trying to fight against the device." He chuckled lightly. "But I think they've underestimated our little rose here. A little pain isn't enough to stop him from trying. Right?"

The tiny smile followed by a wince of pain was the affirmative reply. Although it bothered William to see Grell hurting, he was relieved to see that that the redhead's true self hadn't been lost permanently. "Do you think we should still try to remove the device completely?"

Undertaker shook his head. "We have no way of knowing for sure where it's located," he answered, "In fact, that kick was probably the best method. Perhaps Sebastian actually did help us this time around."

"For what purpose?" growled William, "He wouldn't just help Grell for no reason. He must have his own agenda."

"Perhaps he just figured out that trying to bottle chaos is even more dangerous," Undertaker offered with a soft laugh, "Goodbye, Willy boy. Take good care of the little rose. He'll be needing you." He turned and started to walk away.

"Wait a moment," began William, "Grell isn't completely back to normal yet. Isn't there something else we can do?"

"Do you want to do something else?" Undertaker asked without turning around.

"Of course I do."

There was a long pause. "Those that had this procedure ordered are very high up, Willy. Even I would have trouble defying them with my connections, and you know I have friends in very high places." He glanced back over his shoulder, and some of his hair had fallen to the side so that a piercing eye was visible from around the wild strands of thick hair. "If they know that this experiment of theirs was a failure," he continued, "They will not pause to try again. This time, they might even destroy Grell."

William was shocked by the weight of Undertaker's words. "So, we can't do anything then?" he asked, his normally calm voice beginning to shake with anger.

"Not precisely," the old reaper replied with a shrug, "but you should let them think they've won for now, Willy. Besides, the secrets to bringing Grell back lies within our little rose…and perhaps even you. Let the higher ups think you're behaving. They're surprising easy to fool." With a soft laugh, he jumped high into the air and disappeared into the night, leaving the two all alone in the alleyway. All they had in that moment was each other.

And a lot of questions.

((x))

William had been unsure where to take Grell. He was sure the protocol, which the device still pumped through the brain, would reject going back to his apartment, but William didn't want to go to Grell's either for fear of attracting attention. If Undertaker was right, then their actions could easily be watched and accessed, and he wasn't going to run the risk of them taking Grell once again. Trying to look professional, he took Grell back to the office where they could easily use the ruse of overtime for their late hours. Grell didn't say a word as William ushered him into his office and offered him a chair.

"How are you feeling?" William asked.

"I am okay, Mr. Spears," replied Grell.

William sighed softly. "You still can't just say what you feel, can you?" he asked rhetorically. As if to answer, Grell's eyes pointedly looked over to the side, back to William, and then to the side again. William turned to follow his gaze and noticed that Grell was looking at a notebook. Wondering if he could write more than he could say, William retrieved the paper and a pen which he handed to Grell.

The pen flew across the page at a blinding speed, and it was obvious that Grell was able to pour out those feelings he had been forced to restrain all of this time. He was practically stabbing the paper as he added the punctuation, but William tried to remain calm until the redhead handed him the notebook. It was hard to keep the same coolness as he read those scribbled words.

 _It was awful, Will! They took me to this horrid place, put this collar on my neck to shock me, and made me strip. They tortured me and forced me to admit to lies. One woman, this fake doctor Emily, would act nice, but she was a two-faced sow! She had me sign some agreement so I could go home but they put that thing in my head. She didn't think I could feel anything, so she told me everything. She bragged about. That thing controlled everything about me. I couldn't do anything I wanted to do – not even eat a particular food or read a book. I was more trapped inside my body than I had ever been. I thought you wanted me that way, Will, but it was so horrible._

"I'm so sorry, Grell," William apologized, "I never wanted them to do any of that. I didn't even refer you, and I just thought they'd have therapy or some similar tactics." He paused for a moment as he regained his train of thought. "So, what do you want to do next?" He handed him back the paper.

 _Undertaker's right. Let them thing they've won. I can fight this thing, and when I'm free, they'll pay for what they did! No one collars Grell Sutcliff! I'm far more than Emily or any of her lackeys can handle._

Normally, William would have chastised him for openly threatening other workers, but he knew there was truth in what Grell had written. Those fools thought they had managed to contain a bomb when all they had really done was light the fuse.

((x))

Grell's home had never looked so lovely to her. To anyone who saw her walking home, she would have looked entirely the same as she had since being 'reformed,' but inside her emotions were bubbling over and, for the first time in a while, so was hope. Figuring out she could write down her feelings was only the beginning. While that thing may still cause the occasional ripple of pain, she was far stronger than anything that had been done to her. Now, she was back here in her sanctuary, and she actually had control of her physical actions.

It wasn't easy. The device was screaming at her to eat a healthy meal, so she grabbed a box of chocolate instead. While she shouldn't indulge in too many sweets, she figured she needed some sort of reward. The following pain, which was growing increasingly weaker and fainter, only fueled her rebellious nature. It was proof to her that she was on the right track.

After her snack, she went in and put on her most elaborate pajama set and sat down at her vanity to do her makeup. No one was here to see her of course, but she had had enough days of looking dreary. While staring at her own reflection, she broke out her sharp-toothed smile before blowing her reflection a kiss. She almost managed a laugh, but then the thing in her head reverted her expression back to its neutral setting, but this no longer upset her.

Perhaps the true her could only make brief appearances, but she could still come out to play a little bit. An actress like herself just had to wait for her curtain cue after all.

((x))

In the tiny room, the two workers stared at the display monitors and measured all the readings. The lights flickered on their tired faces, but both worked diligently and efficiently as a door opened and shut behind him. Emily stepped into the room, but she looked nothing like the friendly, slightly plain woman Grell had seen before. Her hair was more vibrant and was curled in an elaborate fashion, and the dress that hung to slender frame made her look like a willowy goddess. "What's going on?" Emily asked, "Is Sutcliff's device malfunctioning?"

"There was just a tiny blip," answered one of the two workers, "Apparently she had been assigned to fight a demon, so we suspect it might have been a jarring blow, but everything is okay now."

"Are you sure?" Emily demanded, "That freak is the ticket to being allowed to tackle my real project."

"Everything is fine," he repeated, "Is there any other word if they'll actually let you try and control that rogue, Undertaker?"

Emily snorted. "Everything is too weak to do anything," she sneered, "They know what's about to happen and what we need to do to survive, but that disgrace still has some Upper Management in his pocket. That's why Sutcliff is so important. Proving we can control someone like him might be enough to tip the balance in our favor."

"And your new target?"

Emily smiled slowly and venomously as she picked up a nearby photograph that was lying on the counter. "With Sutcliff I can prove that anyone can be maintained and controlled. With this boy, I will show that even a mediocre worker can be turned into an efficient and effective agent." She laughed. "I guess I should get prepared for my date with him then. Who knows where it might leave."

Turning, she continued to laugh as she laid the picture back on the counter and left the room. However, the picture slid from the counter and fell slightly to the floor where the smiling face of Ronald Knox was left to silently contemplate the ceiling.

 **The End** (For Now)

 _I'd like to thank everyone for reading my story. I've gotten a few notes asking if there is going to be a sequel or a continuation of this story as it does end with quite a few loose ends. Emily is still free to do as she pleases, Grell's not back to normal, Ronald's in the crosshairs, there's still the mystery of this upcoming battle, etc. Honestly, I had never planned to deal with all of this simply because this was not the story I had started out to write. Initially, I had planned to write a very short piece that dealt mostly with William and the idea of being careful what you wished for. He wanted a 'toned down' version of Grell, or so he thought, but ended up with a mechanical agent that only resembled Grell in appearance. Initially, there was no sign of a happy ending. Grell was left completely in this state, although I never even tried to explain what had been done, and William was left to feel guilty. After writing the first chapter and talking with a friend, she pleaded for something a little more positive, and slowly the idea began to grow until it morphed into this story._

 _As I look back, however, I do see that I can and should go on. I have been mulling over some ideas in my head, and I do have a rough idea for a sequel. While I want to catch up on a few of my other stories in progress, I am also working on a continuation of this story to give it a proper ending._


End file.
